


Unwrapped

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anniversary, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9161515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: Eggsy’s wrapped in a ribbon, gold shimmering in the moonlight, and a neatly-tied bow is perched on his heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nicecuppatea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicecuppatea/gifts).



> For nicecuppatea, who asked for someone getting dressed up as a present :)

* * *

“You’re being sullen.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I’m merely looking over what research I’ve gathered for this upcoming mission.”

“Right, _and_ you’re brooding because you were assigned to it this Saturday.”

Harry puts down the file, only to see Merlin dutifully reading through a cost-benefits report about adding lasers to the wristwatches. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What did you want me to do? Ring the terrorist group and go, _hello, can you postpone your bomb for a few days? I have to take my boyfriend to dinner and a show."_

“I’ll have you know that I made reservations to both months in advance and paid a pretty penny for them.” Harry frowns. “And do stop, Merlin, you’re abusing the fine art of sarcasm.”

Merlin takes a sip of his tea. “It is strange to see you like this, though.”

“It’s my duty, nevertheless,” Harry says, and he’s right. He shouldn’t complain, not after nearly a year of physical therapy and training to get back into peak shape to become a field agent again. He’s lucky to be alive at all. And as a Kingsman agent of nearly thirty years, he knows that missions are not put on hold for special occasions. Harry’s been assigned missions on his birthday, during the holidays, and even a few hours before his father’s funeral. Why should an anniversary be different?

“Besides,” he continues, “it’s not your fault.”

It isn’t. Merlin, as much sway as he has over the agency, cannot overhaul Arthur’s mission assignments. He can object, yes, but ultimately, it’s not in his hands.

Harry thinks this current Arthur is better than Chester—which, to be fair, isn’t a high bar to begin with—and strict, yet fair. For one, she’s more progressive, welcoming Roxy and Eggsy with open arms as long as they were willing to work hard, and even though initially reluctant to return Harry to his field agent status, gave him a chance once she evaluated his medical progress.

Of course, she wouldn’t allow Harry to miss a mission because of an anniversary, nor does he expect her to give him any leeway. He’s still trying to prove that he’s as capable as he was before Kentucky, not turning down anything assigned, getting his reports done on time, and doing his best in order to make a mission a complete success.

“I’m sure Eggsy won’t begrudge you,” Merlin now says. “Just as long as you come home safely, I think he’ll let you get away with anything.”

“I’m still going to make it up to him,” Harry replies. He has no intention of not showing Eggsy how happy he is with him.

“And keep those details to yourself,” Merlin sniffs, and Harry is tempted, at least for a few minutes, to keep his glasses on when he returns home. But, of course, that would be most ungentlemanly.

Especially since Merlin had caught them in the utility closet yesterday.

* * *

His mission is completed without much of a hitch. Merlin had wiped their system as Harry stole the necessary files, using a cufflink-turned-flash-drive.Oh, there were a few who discovered the bomb was missing and tried to give chase, but Harry had taken care of them, even getting to test one of Merlin’s newest gadgets—tiny smoke bombs disguised as mints.

In the end, Harry was able to sneak the disassembled pieces into his briefcase and walk to where the plane was as an ordinary businessman.

By the time he arrives back in London, he is rather tired. He and Arthur had briefly gone over the mission together on the plane, and he’d completed his official report before landing before getting some rest. He’s informed Eggsy of his arrival, something they never fail to do, but it’s close to midnight, and Eggsy may be asleep.

He pictures it, head back against the seat of the cab heading to Stanhope Mews: Eggsy huddled underneath the covers, snoring softly, with his hair mussed and mouth open, drool pooling on the the pillow. JB will be curled at Eggsy’s feet, even though Harry’s been trying to train him—albeit half-heartedly—to sleep in the dog bed downstairs. Harry will quietly slip into the room to put on his pyjamas. If JB doesn’t alert Eggsy, or Eggsy doesn’t wake up on his own, Harry will slide in bed beside Eggsy, not putting his arms around Eggsy in his sleep. Whether it’s from training or habit from living with his stepfather, Eggsy always thrashes against a surprise hold, eyes flying open and legs kicking.

But in the night, Eggsy usually curls up against him, almost as if sensing a heat source. Sometimes, when Harry cannot sleep, he watches his chest rise and fall, limbs relaxed, lips parted. His thoughts occasionally drift to the maudlin, mostly about his own age and whether it is right to chain Eggsy to someone like him, but mostly, Harry loves.

* * *

“We’re home, sir,” the driver says.

Harry wakes up, managing to murmur a polite _thank you_ and get out of the cab. He feels a little more awake, especially when he sees the front lights on.

In his right hand, he grips the umbrella, slowly opening the door with his left. There’s likely not a break-in—Merlin would have informed him—but it never hurts to be safe. He hears a rattle of a pot and JB’s bark, then relaxes when Eggsy calls cheerfully, “Come in, Harry!,” without any of their pre-arranged code words signifying danger.    

When Harry steps into the through the door, he sees Eggsy in the kitchen, lips moving and hips swaying to the beat of the music that’s pumping into his earbuds, as he stirs a pot of what smells like the marinara sauce and beef. JB’s standing by the oven door, wagging his tail. The table is already set, a colander full of spaghetti is steaming in the sink, and a pot of tea is heating on the stove.

He hangs up his coat, then his umbrella, and walks over. Eggsy’s stopped singing once Harry had entered the house, head ducking, cheeks flushed.

“Keep going,” Harry coaxes, bending over to pat JB, who’s wandered over to greet him. “You have a lovely voice.”

“Oh, shut up,” Eggsy replies, flushing a darker red, but continues, a bit softer this time. Harry walks over, sliding both arms around Eggsy’s waist, holding him, careful not to go near any of the lit burners. He’s wearing Harry’s apron, the one with the grey pinstripes, on top of his pyjama bottoms and white t-shirt, hair parted to the right.

“ _Falling, crash into my arms…o_ _h_ ,” Eggsy breathes, as Harry draws him against his body, and Harry’s unsure if it’s part of the song or a reaction to his touch. Eggsy leans back against him, eyes falling half-shut, continuing, “ _Love you like this, like a first kiss; never let go—_ ”

He reaches over, turning off the burner, but doesn’t step away. His voice is pleasant and earnest, and Harry rests his chin on Eggsy’s shoulder. He’s gotten used to this, Eggsy living in his home, and the easy transition has been surprising. He’s lived alone for years, never for sharing a place with anyone—Merlin, for a few weeks, but that had been a bit of a disaster—and although there had been elbowing in the bathroom and a few debates over groceries or laundry, he wouldn’t trade Eggsy for anything.

“ _I'm still falling for you_ ,” Eggsy finishes, and turns to kiss him.

Eggsy tastes like tomatoes, garlic, and basil, but it’s still a lovely kiss, slow and sweet. Harry slips one hand up to cup Eggsy’s head, then the other to hold his hip, and Eggsy’s arms are loose around Harry’s waist. Eggsy’s hair is soft against his fingertips, his hip strong underneath the thin fabric.

When they pull away at last, Eggsy asks, “So, how do you feel about spaghetti and meatballs? We can practice, _Lady and the Tramp_ -style.”  

“I wasn’t aware we needed to practice.”

“We gotta keep up with it, like training, you know,” Eggsy says, with a wink, pouring tea into two cups. “It doesn’t do to let skills get dulled.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Harry comments, as Eggsy piles some pasta onto two plates, then hands one to Harry and gestures to the pot of sauce. “Thank you, Eggsy.”

They sit down, and Eggsy shrugs, trying his best to seem nonchalant. “I just thought...you cook for me after missions, so why not do the same? And I bet you didn’t eat on the plane, either.”

Harry’s touched. He doesn’t always get to be home whenever Eggsy comes back, but when he can, he does, especially after missions full of running and jumping and fighting, where Eggsy comes back ravenous. With the more emotionally-draining missions, he lays out pyjamas and some small meal for Eggsy to nibble on, knowing Eggsy would prefer to climb into bed and pull the covers over his head than sit through a drawn-out dinner.

“Thank you,” he says again, then takes a bite. The noodles are tender, with rich sauce—probably made with the red wine Merlin had given to both of them as a sort of housewarming present a while ago—and perfectly-cooked meatballs. Every bite makes him want to have another, and Harry eats steadily, trying to pace himself. He _is_ hungry, but it wouldn’t do to get cramps or start feeling sick.

While he’s eating, Eggsy regales him with stories about Daisy in preschool and his mum getting promoted at her new job, then briefly mentions how he’s beaten Tristan in a shooting contest. Merlin apparently intimidated Bors into getting him a new coffee maker, since Bors had knocked it off the table, and had also made the recruits spar against Roxy, who had wiped the floor with them, then had them run laps.

Harry’s not allowed to give Eggsy particulars about his mission, but he does mention using the smoke bombs, and Eggsy groans about Merlin not letting him take anything on a field test. “Amelia told Roxy that they’re working on laser lipsticks and knockout gas in those little hand-mirror things,” Eggsy says. “And Roxy said she got clearance to use the hair-dryer grappling hook!”

“Your turn will come,” Harry assures him. “It took me two years, but it was probably because of my relentless petition for R&D to invent all the gadgets from James Bond.”

Eggsy laughs. “No!”

“I did. What would you like to suggest R&D for a new gadget?”

“I can do that?”

“You can, but that’s not a guarantee they’ll make it. Some are very difficult to manufacture—like poisoned lipstick or chapstick, for example. You’d need an antidote to take beforehand or build a tolerance to it, as the substance will absorb into your skin—or perhaps mix with saliva and your tongue while talking to someone or eating something.”

Eggsy considers. “What if...they had trackers in them? It might be confusing if they were on you, but it could help...maybe see how close you are to the person you’re tracking. I guess unless you kiss them on the mouth, then _they_ kiss someone on the mouth, it could get confusing. But...not a completely bad idea?”

“Take it up with R&D,” Harry suggests, smiling, then raises his drink. “Here’s to new ideas and new beginnings, including our anniversary.”

Eggsy smiles, and together, clink their cups.

* * *

After washing up, Harry turns to Eggsy, who’s fidgeting a bit. “Want to go to bed?”

“Bed, or... _bed_?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Do you have something in mind?”

“If you’re tired…” Eggsy trails off, glancing at the clock. It’s very late, so late that he and Harry can easily have a lie-in—and can, since Harry had done his debrief on the plane, and Eggsy hadn’t mentioned a meeting or a mission occurring tomorrow morning.

He is tired, yes, but is too interested in what Eggsy has planned to admit it. “Tell me,” he says.

“Uh, wait,” Eggsy says, then bounds up the stairs. “Don’t follow!” he shouts, then Harry hears the bedroom door shutting.

Amused, Harry waits, sitting down on the couch to watch JB, who’s snoring quietly on the couch. He begins to unravel his tie, placing it on the coffee table, then begins to untie his oxfords.

There’s the creak of the bedroom door and a peculiar sound that sounds like rustling—paper, perhaps. “Harry,” Eggsy now calls, sounding a bit nervous, “um, up here.”

Intrigued, Harry rises to his feet, picking up his shoes and tie to place in the downstairs closet so JB won’t be tempted chew them, and begins to climb the stairs. The door is open, but only the lamp on the nightstand is on, with the curtains drawn just a bit, and when Harry steps into the room, he stops right in the threshold.

Eggsy’s wrapped in a ribbon, gold shimmering in the moonlight, and a neatly-tied bow is perched on his heart. He’s completely nude, smiling a bit hesitantly, holding out his arms. His hair seems brighter, too, honey-brown and feather-soft. The ribbon winds a little tightly around his limbs, and Harry imagines Eggsy tying it with his skilled hands, deft and sure.

Harry’s fingers are on the bow before his mind catches up. “May I?” he asks, and Eggsy wordlessly nods.

With a tug of the dangling ends, the bow comes apart, unraveling. Harry watches as the ends flow at his sides, loosening its coils from around his limbs. “You look lovely,” he breathes.

“Happy anniversary,” Eggsy says, then looks over the clock on the nightstand. “Or...it was a while ago. I have something else for you—”

“You’re all I want right now,” Harry replies, then kisses him. “Eggsy, you are exquisite. Wrapped up in tendrils of the sun—” He pulls away to tug the ribbon briefly, so it pulls just a little tighter. “I want you.” Harry kisses him again, using the ribbon to pull Eggsy closer. “I love you.”  

“I love you, too,” Eggsy breathes, then places both hands on Harry’s shoulders. “I love you.”  
  
And they’re lost to each other: Harry undoing the ribbon so it falls onto the floor, Eggsy stepping out of the loops, and both of them falling onto the bed. Their touches are unhurried and lazy, roaming each other's bodies in distinct familiarity. They pull each other closer, kissing, fingers and mouths hungry for each other. Eggsy loves to tug on his hair, pulling and winding the curls in between his fingers, and Harry loves to worship his neck, biting and sucking, light enough so not to leave a mark, but enough to make Eggsy's toes curl in pleasure. 

Just as Eggsy sits up, something crinkles. They both stop, searching for the source of the noise. "Oh, wait," he says, then gestures to the ribbon still wound around his left ankle. He laughs, shaking his leg so it dances, rustling in the quiet room. "Should I get this off, then?" 

Harry stares. He has a sudden, rather appealing notion that seems obvious on his face, judging by Eggsy's smirk. "You want to?" Eggsy murmurs, then puts one of the dangling ends into Harry's hand. 

"Do you want to?" Harry retorts, fingers lightly closed around it. 

"Yes," Eggsy whispers, looking up at him, " _yes_."

With that, Harry winds the ribbon tighter around Eggsy's ankle, binding it to the bedpost. He deliberately leaves Eggsy's hands and his other foot free, so he can turn Eggsy over and watch those hands clench on top of the headboard. He smooths a hand down Eggsy's spine, bending over to kiss each of his shoulder blades, the space between them, the column of raised knobs, and the small of his back. Eggsy has a mole on his right cheek, and Harry kisses that too, pulling away after a light nip. 

Harry kneels on the bed, hands parting Eggsy's cheeks, and he kisses that spot, too. Eggsy hisses, muttering a short curse, and Harry does it again, this time, more insistently, pressing his tongue so it laps against the sensitive spot, then again. He does it methodically, listening to Eggsy's moans and light gasps and looking up to see his knuckles going white. Eggsy's squirming on the mattress, bound lightly to the bed, but making no move to get away. 

So Harry continues, probing, flicking, sliding, his hands occasionally moving to grasp Eggsy's arse and squeeze. "Enjoying yourself?" he asks. 

"You bet I am," Eggsy says, thrusting up a little. Harry lightly runs his hands over Eggsy's hips, sliding across his thighs. Eggsy's cock is hard, and he's nearly prostrate, forehead resting on the pillow, arms extended with his palms to the ceiling, legs spread. "Come on, Harry," he continues, voice rough. 

Harry kisses him more, bites him more, and when Eggsy's gasping, telling him to hurry, he reaches into the nightstand. The light click of the cap makes both of them stiffen in anticipation. He takes his time preparing Eggsy, spreading his cheeks, working in a slick finger, then two, and sliding in his tongue with them. The sounds are filthy and wet, but Eggsy loves it, throwing his head back, sighing and clenching down on him. None of Eggsy's toes are straight, simply curving tightly, as if wanting to grab onto something. 

Eggsy offers to ride him, and as he sinks down, Harry's hands find his hips again, his own legs thrown over the base of the bed. "Touch yourself for me," he says, and Eggsy obliges, sliding his hand up and down his cock. He closes his eyes in pleasure, and Harry watches, can watch this forever, Eggsy high on bliss and neck craning backwards, lips forming Harry's name. 

He's flushed in the dark, hair messy, and his pupils are wide. The ribbon is twisted around Eggsy's ankle, still shining gold and tethering him to the bedpost. 

And Harry clenches his fingers tighter, and releases. 

* * *

"Happy anniversary," Eggsy says again, curled up against Harry's chest. His skin is damp, cooling with the remaining dampness of the wet flannel. 

"Happy anniversary," Harry replies, and closes his eyes, drifting to sleep, at last. 


End file.
